My grandmother was Helen Monaghan. She married William Long, from Philadelphia, and raised a family, including my mother, Ruth, in Hornell, N.Y. Maybe we’re cousins somehow.

I got your name from an article by Doug Herman that was posted on rense.com 5-21-8. Great work you’re doing. I watched the short video about Cheney. I remember reading , shortly after the attacks, that a junior congressman, a republican, I think, said he passed Cheney in the hall outside the bunker a little before 8:30 am the morning of the attack. Can’t recall the lawmaker’s name. I believe I read that on AlterNet.

Waiting For The Signal

These pages that bring us together
are the fire in the cave above the stream,
a dream we move in and out of, faceless,
expendable, waiting for a burst of wings
to spill our pooled bones like coins
over the chilled and silent ground
we fell in love with so long ago,
singing the green hills homeward
under that shovel-shouldered sun.

Fatigue works grim the stone of souls.
No talk is needed to believe the bleeding
will be ours all too soon. Needled dust,
that settled itself in naive lungs, cuts
with each rasp, yet the bleeding
won’t be stemmed. Quick, black tongues
flick from windows, floors below dustified
debris, and the Street slumps with peanuts
beside its beer, locked on the game.

In our rush of voices a stream curses
the murmur of pines. In our names,
what we begged for never to be done,
is done with no shame. And the day
drags its blindered self to toil. Night trades
whiskey pete for oil, while down slope,
death-drummer birds with blazing eyes
ascend the holy crags to kill dissent
before we waking innocent arise.

-G. Karl Marcus
12/10/05